At the end of 2025, over 20 million viewers logged onto their Netflix accounts to stream the highly-anticipated third installment of Rian Johnson’s iconic murder-mystery series, Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery. Simultaneously, after weeks of escalating anti-migrant rhetoric by President Donald Trump, his administration began Operation Metro Surge in Minnesota—a mass deportation crusade by US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) likened to military occupation. Christian nationalism lies at the rhetorical core of Trump’s immigration policy as officials boldly invoke Biblical passages to glorify ICE activity as a divine ordinance. As the chasm between fundamental Christian values and right-leaning political rhetoric grows wider, Wake Up Dead Man subverts this all-too-familiar tale of religious misappropriation with an alternative vision of ministry based in compassion, not sectarianism. In the face of moral emergencies such as Trump’s deportation campaigns, this vision reframes protest as a shared spiritual duty where churches’ preservation of human dignity transcends both political and denominational lines.
In contrast to the previous Knives Out films’ settings of old-money mansions and luxury islands, Wake Up Dead Man opens in a secluded Catholic parish where the church’s longtime leader, the despotic Monsignor Wicks, has amassed a small yet devoted group of congregants through years of sectarian preaching. The bright-eyed Father Jud serves as his foil, his compassion-forward ministry starkly contrasting Wicks’ combative rhetoric. After the mysterious murder of Monsignor Wicks during Easter service, Father Jud teams up with detective Benoit Blanc to find the true culprit among Wicks’s flock of devotees.
In classic Knives Out fashion, Johnson is far from subtle with his political commentary—Wicks, an obvious stand-in for charismatic politicians like Trump, leverages both faith and fear to push his agenda. His devoted congregation similarly serves as a political caricature for Trump’s most hardline supporters who are caught up in his domineering cult of personality. Amid the spectacles of tribalist politics and holy mysteries, however, the film surprised both viewers and critics alike when it broke from the standard “whodunnit” plotline to deliver its most impactful scene: a moment of empathetic respite in the form of a phone call between Father Jud and an off-screen clerk, who simply requests a prayer for her dying mother. In this moment, Jud is reminded of his true duty as a spiritual servant, not a judge, embodying the foundational value of Christian faith—to love thy neighbor (Mark 12:30–31). The film carries this theme of radical love and grace throughout the rest of the mystery, ultimately ending with a surprisingly hopeful portrayal of Christian humanism in the face of institutional corruption.
It is no revelation that people are drawn to stories that spark hope, but the use of Christianity for such messaging implies that audiences may share a relevant curiosity about faith as well. In crafting this exploration of American sectarianism, Wake Up Dead Man’s Christian framework transforms what would be otherwise predictable cultural commentary into a nuanced exploration of the viability of faith in today’s politics. Although Knives Out is a secular Netflix franchise and Johnson, once a devout Christian, now identifies as nonreligious, the film’s optimistic portrayal of compassionate ministry starkly contrasts with the Christian nationalist sentiments championed by Trump administration officials.
Christian rhetoric has become deeply intertwined with American conservative politics, yet the dissonance between the actions of the government and the core values of Christian faith has become too loud for many faith leaders to bear. Trump’s aggressive immigration policy embodies the administration’s misappropriation of faith to justify the systematic dehumanization of immigrants in ICE detention, where reports of violence and inhumane conditions are commonplace. In the face of such abuses, there is a renewed desire to see Christian institutions on the political forefront, upholding the fundamental belief in human dignity.
The Catholic Church’s recent outspokenness against ICE crackdowns is one such example of a revived role of churches in today’s political arena. In November 2025, for the first time in 12 years, bishops at the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops issued a near-unanimous statement rebuking Trump’s mass-deportation campaigns. In this Special Pastoral Message, the bishops state that “Catholic teaching exhorts nations to recognize the fundamental dignity of all persons, including immigrants,” emphasizing that it is their duty to defend God-given human rights. The Catholic Church, a highly-centralized international bureaucracy, traditionally avoids direct political commentary, and as such, this rebuttal is on the basis of moral, rather than political, disagreement. This show of a unified clerical front is especially powerful within an ecclesiastical structure that emphasizes hierarchy; by positioning the defense of human dignity as a religious imperative, this Special Message reinforces Catholic leaders’ solidarity with immigrants as a spiritual commitment.
The Presbyterian Office of Public Witness issued a similar denunciation in response to ICE raids in Los Angeles this past summer. Drawing upon the Presbyterian Church’s longtime history of advocating resistance against “laws or commands that contradict God’s word,” the statement urges Presbyterians to participate in peaceful activism to advocate for immigrant rights. At the end of the message, the Office cites 30 different Biblical passages to support their stance to “defend the stranger, the foreigner, the migrant, the immigrant, and the refugee.” In contrast to the Catholic magisterium, the Presbyterian polity is largely representative—this explicit call for peaceful protest blurs the hierarchical distinction between clergy and congregation in a prioritization of shared Christian identity as the foundation for moral responsibility. Emphasizing Presbyterians’ freedom of conscience, the Office outlines various modes of potential political activism for their congregants; their freedom of self conjoined with their freedom of political expression. This appeal to both scriptural authority and individual conscience reframes activism as a form of collective ministry—a shared spiritual obligation among all believers.
These recent criticisms and calls for action are not new nor isolated; in fact, churches of various denominations have long mobilized to defend vulnerable members of their communities. Following the traditions of the Sanctuary Movement, a faith-led anti-deportation campaign centered around protecting Central American refugees in the 1980s, churches such as the Lake View Presbyterian Church in Chicago have maintained their commitment to providing sanctuary to those in need despite the risk of federal prosecution for violating criminal law against the harboring of undocumented immigrants. Across major US cities, including Chicago, Los Angeles, and New York, Episcopal dioceses have adopted similar sanctuary policies to affirm “Christ’s call to welcome the stranger.” By returning to the basics of Christian doctrine, rife with parables emphasizing hospitality and compassion (Luke 10:30–37, 14:15–24; Matthew 25:34–40), these institutions enact biblically-aligned action, capable of fulfilling the key function of the church as a cornerstone for refuge.
Out in the streets, faith leaders rally alongside community activists, leading anti-ICE demonstrations throughout the country. Following the mass-mobilization of ICE in Minnesota, Westminster Presbyterian in downtown Minneapolis hosted over 600 faith leaders, many of whom traveled across the United States, to discuss methods for resisting the Trump administration’s mass deportation efforts. The day after, hundreds participated in a major demonstration outside the Minneapolis-Saint Paul International airport, where around 100 clergy were arrested by police while the remaining demonstrators chanted “Let them pray.” The incorporation of prayer in politics deliberately blurs the line between ritual and protest, offering a striking example of true political religiosity in action.
The mass mobilization of these churches against Trump should not be brushed off as another manifestation of partisanship, now under the guise of faith. Admittedly, this religious movement is partially left-leaning, but the temptation to categorize these sentiments in sectarian terms flattens their political and spiritual significance. The Episcopalian and Catholic clergy, despite historically diverging on topics like gay marriage, now overlap in their calls for critical immigration reform, while public demonstrations led by faith leaders continue to transcend denominational lines. At the core of this ecumenical activism is the Christian moral obligation to embody the values of Jesus Christ, extending grace and mercy towards all human beings. This religious duty surpasses political boundaries, invoking a greater sense of urgency as Trump’s immigration policy is reframed in terms of moral and spiritual collapse—a stark contrast to the administration’s attempts to justify such policies through Scripture.
This movement of faith-led activism within the United States invokes the very sentiment of radical love that Wake Up Dead Man centers upon, rectifying the gaps between misdirected political rhetoric and religious action through honest humanitarian Christianity. In a government fraught with religious demagoguery, there is a critical need for an alternative, yet necessarily primary, narrative of empathetic ministry. As faith leaders continue to speak out and mobilize against an administration valorizing “righteous” violence, Father Jud’s conviction that “Christ came to heal the world, not fight it” remains especially pertinent today.